


Me First

by mcfair_58



Category: Bonanza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcfair_58/pseuds/mcfair_58
Summary: A missing scene for the episode 'A Matter of Circumstance', which is one of my favorites. Left alone in the house with what may be a dying Joe, Hoss has a conversation with himself and makes a promise.





	Me First

I can remember the firs time I held my baby brother. I was just a little squirt, ‘bout six years old. My hands were so big and he was just so gosh darn small. Mama made me hold them big ol’ hands of mine out and she put him in them, and then she told me to think of Little Joe like any other little critter. Mama said she knew I loved them all and would be real gentle with him just like I was with them.   
I’m bein’ gentle with him now.  
I been through a lot with this here boy. After Mama died, well, it seemed for a while that it was just the two of us. When Pa took off after Mama’s fall, that left older brother in charge. Adam was only a kid himself. Heck, now, when I think about someone who hadn’t seen the high side of eighteen doin’ what he had to do – takin’ on runnin’ the ranch and lookin’ after baby brother and me – he never got to be a kid. Not like Joe. Little brother, he works and he plays hard, but he ain’t never known the kind of want and worry older brother did.  
I’m worried. Real worried.  
“Joe?” I try again. “Little Joe?”  
I know Joe’s in real trouble when he don’t rear up and punch me in the nose for sayin’ that. I don’t call him ‘Little’ Joe anymore less I want to rile him. Heck, I mean, I guess I gotta admit that he ain’t so little anymore. Fact is, the boy’s nigh onto thirty and all them years of ranch work have put more muscle on that skinny frame of his than I got between my ears. Made him tough as those nails we hammer day and night, layin’ shingles and mendin’ fences and fixin’ up the barn.  
When I close my eyes, I can see that barn.  
There was so much blood it near stopped my heart. I was sure when I first seen it that I’d find Joe lyin’ in one of them stalls shot in the gut by some bad man and all bled out. But he weren’t there. Joe wasn’t anywhere. You know, it was a funny thing. Lookin’ at all that blood took me right past Joe and straight back to mama. Only this time she wasn’t smilin’. This time she was lyin’ there in a pool of that same red stuff, dyin’. Pa’s there beside her. He’s holdin’ her hand and talkin’ soft to her.   
Just like I been talkin’ soft to Little Joe.   
Now, everyone will tell you I’m a tracker, and a good one at that. It’s kind of a natural instinct with me like it is with one of them there bloodhounds. It took me a minute, but I realized quick enough as I moved around the barn that it weren’t no bad man what done this to my brother. Joe didn’t try to do nothin’ to hide his tracks. As I followed the trail of rusty red from one room to another, I could see he was hurt right bad. He was movin’ on his belly, draggin’ one leg and an arm, and he kept fallin’ down – and then gettin’ up – and then fallin’ down again.   
That’s my little brother. He’s so tough he’d eat off a plate with a rattler.   
“You hear me, Joe?” I whisper as I brush one of them silver curls back from his ear and lean in real close. “You’re tough. You’re gonna make it.”  
Joe.  
You gotta make it.   
The house is so quiet I can hear the clock all the way in there by the front door tickin’ away. That there’s a sound I been hearin’ since before I know when. It’s almost a part of me, if you know what I mean. There’s another sound that’s a part of me. I can feel it under my fingers. I ain’t usin’ my ears, but touch is another kind of hearin’, ain’t it? Leastwise that’s what that old blind veteran who sits outside the saloon on summer nights tells me. The sound ain’t so strong as it ought to be and it’s runnin’ wild. Makes me think of that old clock in the foyer again and the time I would it up so tight it near stopped.  
If Joe’s heart stops , it won’t be the only one.  
That’ll be the end of us.  
I know it.  
I need to shift. Little brother ain’t that heavy, but he’s lyin’ across my legs and he ain’t movin’. Now I tell you, it ain’t easy bein’ big as a moose and sittin’ all hunched up on the floor with a sick man on your lap, a table to one side, and a great big old stove on the other and – Lordy! – what a mess in-between. When I first come ‘round the corner into the kitchen after followin’ that trail of blood from the barn to the house, I just stopped. Pa was in the middle of the room bendin’ over Joe. I couldn’t see baby brother’s face, but what I could see of him – an arm that looked like a grizzly’d done chewed it and spit it back out, his leg bound up with reins and the back slats of a chair, with blood and muck and mud coatin’ every inch of him....   
I was sure little brother was dead right then and there.   
It shames me to say it, but it near done me in. I heard of men sayin’ their legs went to jelly. ‘Course I never believed it.  
I believe it now.   
It weren’t until Pa started callin’ my name that I thought to ask if Joe was livin’.   
‘He’s alive,’ Pa said for I could.   
Alive.   
Now, there’s a word with a lot of hope in it.  
And a whole world of worry.   
You see, I got a way with wounded things. Anyone will tell you that. Makes a lot of people laugh – Big old Hoss Cartwright lookin’ out for the littlest things God created. Well, this here ‘little’ thing in my big old hands is the one I done promised to look out for until the day I die. People laugh at me a lot. I don’t care. Don’t make me no nevermind like it does little brother. I guess when you been laughed at your whole life you got two choices – you get mad and mean, or you learn to laugh with them. People laugh at me and my little brother too ‘cause we’re so close and we watch out for one another. Made Joe spit nails the last time it happened. One of the wranglers working for Pa said I oughta wear an apron. That way I’d have some strings to tie the boy to.   
Thing is, I don’t need no apron strings. Joe and me, we’s already tied tighter than old Dick’s hatband.   
You gotta understand, I got me this here intuition when it comes to my little brother. Kind of like an itch. It works like them telegraph wires. You know, I still can’t figure how them dang things can send messages across the miles, but they sure enough do. It’s the same with Joe and me. It’s like one of them there wires is stretched between us.   
I gotta admit, it weren’t at first that I knew he was in trouble. Heck, at first I was sore with Joe for bein’ the one pulled the short straw to get the cushy job of stayin’ home and waitin’ for the cook. Like I told Candy, I could just see him sittin’ in pa’s chair by the fire, sippin’ brandy and snortin’ like a puppy whiles we was all freezin’ our tails off sleepin’ ‘neath the stars. No, at first I was kinda upset. Then, the next mornin, I was just plain mad when Joe didn’t show up with the cook and the grub. It don’t take a genius to know little brother would do just about anythin’ to get out of a round-up. When he didn’t show, Pa and I traded a few words – ninety of them had somethin’ to do with baby brother bein’ carefree and careless, and about ten said maybe we should head home and see what was up.   
Then I got that itch.   
Persistent, Adam would have called it. Dogged me all day to scratch it. ‘Course, I kept tellin’ myself all the things Pa’d say if I brung it up. I know them so well I can say them with him. Joe’s not a boy anymore. Your younger brother can look out for himself. He’ll be mad as a wet hen if he thinks we think otherwise.  
Come on, Joe. Be mad at me.  
Spit fire, boy!  
Nothin’.  
I steel myself and look down at him. I feel kind of guilty when I do ‘cause I ain’t looked at him for a while.   
It just hurts too much.   
My fingers comb through that pretty hair of his, tryin’ to pull out some bits of straw. Ain’t worth nothin’, I know, but it’s somethin’ I can do. I can tell you, I’ve been right jealous of that hair all my life. Seems God got mixed up somehow and gave Joe most of what I was owed. Only Joe’s hair ain’t so pretty now. It’s matted with muck from the stall, mixed with blood and sweat –   
And tears.  
It stabs like a knife – the truth behind them tears. I keep thinkin’ of Joe bein’ here all alone, hurtin’ so bad, callin’ out for someone to come. For Pa to come.   
For me to come.   
“I came, Joe,” I whisper as I draw him a little closer, feelin’ the heat ragin’ through his broken body. “Sorry I got here too late to keep this from happenin’.”  
That’s another hurt. One I know Pa feels as deep as I do. Couldn’t been more than half an hour at most for this happened. The storm was brewin’ as we pulled out for the drive and we should of knowed one of the horses might of got spooked. As we rode out, I heard Joe talkin’ over the wind to Hop Sing, tellin’ him to have a good trip. That same wind drove old Hop Sing’s answer to me. I should have knowed it was a warnin’.  
‘You be a good boy, Little Joe.’  
How many times in my life have I heard those words, I wonder? Poor Joe, he tries so hard, but trouble just seems to follow him like a lost puppy. He knows it too. I know that ‘cause Joe opened his eyes right after Pa left. His hand gripped the sleeve of my brown coat and he tried to tell me somethin’. I couldn’t make much of it out, but I’m sure I caught the word, ‘sorry’.   
I can still see him, you know. That little feller who’d get called on the carpet in front of Pa’s big red chair every other day. Little Joe’d stand there for a minute with his head hangin’ down, and then look up with them great big green eyes of his through that tangle of brown curls thick as a briar patch. He’d sniff back tears and then them petty pink lips of his would twitch with a smile.   
And Pa’s heart would melt.   
Seems to me Joe always has somethin’ to apologize for.  
Trouble is, a man cain’t say he’s sorry once he’s dead.   
“And I ain’t gonna forgive you,” I breathe close to his blood-spattered ear. “ So you better not up and die.”   
Joe don’t say nothin’. He don’t even move. ‘Ceptin’ his upper lip. It kind of curls up at one end.   
Dang kid.   
Still tryin’ to get away with it!   
A noise in the other room makes me turn my head. I wonder if Pa’s comin’ back. I don’t know how long he’s been gone and I been sittin’ here. Seems like all of eternity plus an hour besides that, but it probably ain’t been more than fifteen minutes. Kind of surprised me when Pa told me to stay put with Joe while he rode out to fetch one of the hands to send them to town for the doctor. Ain’t too many of them around ‘cause of the drive, but one or two old-timers was left behind in the field to watch for trouble.   
Maybe Pa knew I needed this. Time with my brother just in case....  
No.  
I don’t want to hurt Joe, but I just gotta move. So I shift and brace my back ‘til it’s propped against the stove. It’s a good thing it’s cold now, though it looks like Joe done tried to cook himself some supper at some point. It’s a wonder little brother didn’t burn the house down. That piece of beef on top in the skillet is black as Hop Sing’s hat. Joe sure did a good job lookin’ out for himself. The Lord only knows how he had the guts to set his own leg and then walk on it to the house. Looked like, from the mess in the dining room, that he tried as best he could to clean out that wound in his arm and make it right too. Trouble is, too much of the muck he’d been lyin’ in made its way under the skin. Got infected. Real infected. Pa threw one of them towels that Joe’d been soakin’ in the copper pot for some reason over it before he left.   
Probably knew I couldn’t stomach lookin’ at it and thinkin’ about what Doc might have to do to save Joe’s life when he comes.  
“You hang on, little brother,” I tell him. “Pa’ll send someone for the doc. You’ll be just fine.”  
You gotta be fine, Joe.  
You just gotta.  
I look at him again. Just his face, mind you, not that awful mess below. The way Joe looks puts me in mind of that time he had the measles and we thought we’d lose him. Pa wouldn’t let me come close for fear I’d get it, but I snuck in one time to see him. Mama had a book about New Orleans she liked to show me. It was filled with pictures of weeping women and chubby little stone angels with their eyes closed like they was sleepin’. Little Joe looked just like one of them angels.  
“Come on, angel,” I say quietly as I pat his cheek. “Wake up for ol’ Hoss’.”  
When he doesn’t stir, I lose it. My eyes fill with tears.   
Joe, you know I couldn’t live without you. Don’t you? I ain’t just sayin’ that. I mean it. Now, don’t you go tellin’ my secret. Pa’d have my hide if he knew. That last time you near died, I done prayed to God and asked Him to take me first. I saw you come into this world and – well, I guess I’m just a coward plain and simple – I ain’t got it in me to see you out of it. And that’s why I know you ain’t gonna die today. Even though I can feel your heart beatin’ under my fingers fast as Cochise’s hooves flyin’ and your skin’s hot as a day in the desert – I just know you ain’t gonna die.  
You see, God and me, we got an understandin’.  
I hear that sound again, in the other room. Only this time it’s followed by fast footsteps. A second later Pa comes around the corner. Seems to me Pa’s aged a good ten years in the time he’s been gone. His hat’s off and his white hair’s flyin’ like three sheets before the wind. And that face of his? It’s got more furrows than a farmer’s freshly tilled field. Pa kneels beside us. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on Joe’s hair. Them deep dark eyes of his ask me if little brother’s been awake. My light blue ones, full of tears, tell him all he needs to know.  
“Charley was close. He’s on his way. Paul will be here soon.”   
Pa draws a deep breath. He’s lookin’ at Joe, at the mud and the muck, the blood, the sweat and the tears. Then he looks at me, like I’m the one who needs the doc.  
“Are you all right, son?”  
All right.  
Pa likes them two words. Why, he practically built the Ponderosa on them. No matter what came along, Pa was always sure everythin’ was gonna be all right.   
But that wasn’t what he was askin’ right now. He wasn’t askin’ if I felt okay or had a spring in my step, or even if I needed to have one of them father-son talks he’s so fond of. He was askin’ if I was ‘all right’ with Joe dyin’.  
Damn, it! No!  
No, I ain’t all right with it and it ain’t gonna happen! You hear me, Pa? You hear that, Little Joe?   
Me first, remember. It’s gotta be me first.   
“Son?”  
I nod and rise, keepin’ hold of my little brother, not surrenderin’ him even though Pa’s eyes beg to hold him. I done took hold of this here little critter the day he was born and I ain’t gonna let go of him until the day I die.   
Not until the day I die.  
You hear that God?   
Me first.


End file.
